


When We Meet

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [105]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, M/M, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: There’s a beautiful man at the bar.





	When We Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: You'll see. I promise we'll be perfect strangers when we meet. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

There’s a beautiful man at the bar.

There’s a beautiful man at the bar and he won’t take his eyes off of Tony. They’re slow rolling eyes, the kind that sweep up and down in a dirty curve matched only by the turn of the man’s mouth, his little knowing half smile, a smile that says _you’re coming home with me, aren’t you?_

There’s part of Tony that’s put off by that, the man’s unspoken certainty; it comes off as almost snide, egotistical even. But then, Tony knows egotistical, is kind of fond of it, actually, is pretty good at it himself, and he didn’t come for a drink after a long week of work looking for a Scrabble partner. He came to get laid. And the beautiful man seems to get that--to dig it, even--so whatever qualms Tony might have about being so easily marked, well. He can set those aside for a while, can’t he?

He meets the man’s gaze and gives him a long, lingering smile, the knock ‘em dead one, and it works like a fucking charm; the beautiful man pushes away from his drink and saunters over, no mystery about it, no game.

“You are,” he says the second Tony’s in earshot, “the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Tony hides behind his drink. “That’s a line and a half.”

“Not a line,” the man says. “Let me assure you of that, darlin’.” Then his fingers are under Tony’s chin, tipping it up, a touch that’s so proprietary that it knocks Tony’s breath away, the worn strands of his good sense. “I could show you some solid proof if you need it.”

“You could, huh?” Tony’s already lost this battle, the stranger has already won, and yet something in Tony keeps goading him to resist--not to push the man away, but to make him play, make him keep up a proper chase just a little bit longer.

The hand on his face spreads and swallows the curve of his cheek. “Yeah, I could. And I think you'd find it pretty convincing.” The man steps closer, the front of his leather jacket catching Tony's shirt, and Tony’s back hits the bar, their knees brushing, the swell of their hips. “But I’d rather not do it in here.”

There are a lot of fucking inconvenient things about being an omega, living in a culture that, despite its politically correct noises, is still designed by and for alphas. Oh, it’s better than it was a generation ago, sure; the kinds of slurs that Tony’s dad had shouted at him in the street are whispered now, hidden behind raised eyebrows or a knowing, dismissive smirk. Nobody slaps his ass in public or corners him in elevators to tell him how good he smells or how bad he must need to be licked if he’s that ripe, that open and sweet. Now that kind of shit can get somebody fired, if not arrested; now that kind of shit only happens in porn.

True, there are still too many goddamn people who read Tony as an omega first and anything and everything else second, but there are just as many these days who don’t. He owns a big company and he signs people’s paychecks--things his father wasn’t allowed to do--and he’s taken seriously by people in his life who matter, whose opinion he cares about. Everybody else can go screw themselves.

But.

But.

At times like this, being an omega has its upsides, too. Namely, this gorgeous alpha who is clearly down to give Tony whatever he wants tonight; an alpha who’s not grabbing or taking, but who’s making the offer--his offer--loud and abundantly clear. The choice, the decision, the matter of Tony’s acquiescence, though--that sits in Tony’s hands, and damn if he’s not desperate to reach out and touch.

“Not here,” Tony says, the words coming out in a hot rush. “But yes, alpha. Please.”

 

*****

They’re in a car.

They’re in a car, sprawled across the backseat, and the alpha is kissing him, deep, hungry licks that seem to go on forever. The car’s moving, though, moving, and Tony knows is this isn’t the end of it, that the alpha’s taking him somewhere where they can do this again and again if they want to, clutch at each other and scratch and shudder and moan.

Tony’s the one moaning, the one who’s too eager, the one who’s working himself against the broad thigh the man’s pressed between Tony’s legs. The man’s hard and he smells like a fucking cardamom sea and Tony knows that he wants it, wants to tear open Tony’s jeans and take him right here, shove into the soft sink of Tony’s ass and bite at Tony’s nipples until they both get some goddamn relief, but he’s not doing any of that, this guy, no; he seems content to shove Tony into the seat and drive him out of his head just with his tongue and his teeth, with the way he arches when Tony tugs at his long, dark hair, the way he’s letting Tony rock against him like a teenager in his first heat.

The man’s dumped his leather coat on the floor and his henley’s hiked up over his ribs, the warm hiss of his skin humming under Tony’s hands, and he’s purring, matching Tony’s groans with a low rumble of pleasure that doesn’t stumble, hasn’t ceased.

“You can come like this,” he murmurs, tucking the words between kisses. “Just from this. Can’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Tony says fiercely, not embarrassed at all, unashamed. “Just from this, from you, alpha. I could.”

“How long has it been, hmm?” A soft suck on Tony’s throat, a bare scrape of teeth. “How long has it been since you had somebody touch you like this?”

“ _Years_ ,” Tony says before he can stop himself, before he can keep the truth from escaping. “God, it's been years.”

The man makes a wounded sound. “Jesus, darlin.’ All that time, you had nobody to take care of you?”

Something blooms in Tony’s mouth, something too close to a sob. “I don’t--I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, honey. Of course.” The man finds Tony’s mouth again, brushes their lips close, their breathing closer. “But sometimes,” he says, gentle as all get out, “you don’t have to. Sometimes, it feels good to let somebody else help, you know?”

Then all at once Tony is kissing him, his mouth furious on the alpha’s, because somehow, this man, this stranger has flayed him, has cut him to the quick with his body and his words and how a guy Tony met less than an hour ago knows him so well, has managed to dig this up out of him, how badly he wants to be cared for, coddled, how much he wants to give himself over to an alpha in bed again, how much he needs to, how impossible such a fucking is for him to say, Tony cannot imagine but goddamn, he’s not gonna argue with whatever deity sent this man his way.

“Put your hand on me,” he gets out. “I need you to jerk me off, alpha, please. I need it, I can’t wait, I’m sorry. I can’t--”

“Shhhhh,” the man says. He braces one hand behind Tony’s head and shoves the other between them. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’ll give you what you need.” He nuzzles Tony’s chin and pops the button, eases the zipper carefully down, and the heat of his fingers is so close that Tony could cry. He’s so hot and so hard and his alpha’s touch is right there, just out of reach. “But you have to do something for me, darlin, ok?”

A sound comes out of Tony’s mouth, wild. “What? _What?_ ”

A smile against his cheek, the curl of a fist around his anxious cock. “Call me Bucky. That’s my name, sweetheart. Not alpha.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...how in the world have I gone three months with this project and NOT written A/B/O before?!


End file.
